The Voice of the Dragonborn
by platsychan
Summary: This is my take on the Dragonborn after everything is done in Skyrim, the end it's a sad ending, depressing so if you don't want depressing don't read. Please leave comments with feedback! )


The Dragonborn stood on the edge of the Throat of the World and stared out at the great expanses of Skyrim. The day was especially nice for the top of a mountain that was always frozen and her armor kept her warm enough. She had been up here for about two months now, meditating and praying to Talos for guidance. It was to be her calm, her inner peace or so she had thought.

From her position on the edge of the cliffs she could make out Whiterun sitting placidly on its small hill, the farms surrounding it on the slowly rolling hills of its hold. One of those farms was going to be for her family before everything happened. She thought with a heavy pang of her lost love Farkas and his last breathe, breathing her name. The name she had only ever told him. Only ever would tell him.

Fresh tears fell from her eyes and froze before they hit her armor, bouncing off as tiny crystals and falling away down the mountain. She couldn't help the rush of emotions, of memories that flew by her like the great wings of a dragon.

She remembered how he smelled, how he had been the first to welcome her to Skyrim and the first to believe she could make something of herself here, how she would one day make a great Companion. He had fought at her side in the hardest of battles and stood up for her among the members of the Companions. How he held her when they made love and how he had so wanted to start a family together. Now that would never happen for them.

He had whispered again and again of the days they would grow old together.

The Dragonborn from her position, let out a terrible cry into the air that reverberated into the rock, into her very soul. Fire flew from her lips as she shouted again and again in the agony of her lost love. The clouds rippled and flashed and crashed into the mountain but for once she took no notice of what she did around her, of who she hurt. She only took notice of the ripping loss in her heart as she fell to her knees in the snow at the edge of the mountain.

She had done it, had saved the world from Alduin and brought Skyrim back to peace, had put back together the Companions, The Theives Guild and even the College of Winterhold. She had taken a Skyrim that was broken by the Thalmor and brought back to them a semblance of pride and purpose. She had tried her hardest to be the hero everyone wanted of their Dragonborn.

What did it mean now, with no one to share the victory with?

The day they had been married had been the best day, the day the sun shone brightest and the winds were warmest coming into Riften. The radiant look in Farkas' eyes had filled her soul again as he held her small and calloused hands and they said the sacred words of Mara that bound them together. He had made her feel human again. For those moments, she had not been a pawn in eveyones game. She was not the fearless warrior with a heart of Dragon-ice. She was just herself. She was marrying her one true love like any other giddy young maiden.

On that day they had been married he had looked down at her in her white dress, her hair covered in flowers and had told her she was beautiful. From that day on, he woke up everyday with those words on his lips no mattered how scarred or hurt she was from her adventures. She was wrapped in a sense of content with him.

Then he was killed, simply stripped of his life by the sword of silver belonging to a nameless Silverhand mercenary. Had been sick that day, had been sick that week with a draining case of Rockjoint. He had still been recovering, had still needed to rest. Farkas, with his calm and loving eyes had insisted on going on the raid to watch her back. And just like that, his love, his heart, his eyes, his smell and his beauty were extinguished.

Not one Silverhand had made it out of the rundown fort that one Silverhand was left in Skyrim. Her heart had burned with nothing but revenge and hatred that day.

What did she have left, what did she really owe to Skyrim now?

Arngeir watched from the steps of the High Hrothgar as the Dragonborn shouted into the sky. Naturally Arngeir's feelings of the Dragonborn had bordered on distaste at the best of times. She had not been the most noble or well bred Dragonborn by any means and her taste for helping even the smallest of creatures had brought about impatience Arngeir hadn't thought he had in him anymore. She had seemed weak.

But now he watched with no emotion as she ripped the sky in two with her Voice. He watched and stayed silent and thought of his own lost love from long ago. He looked on as the Dragonborn stood from her position.

Arngeir was just about to turn, the walk back inside and brew the Dragonborn some tea, maybe a sweetroll for comfort. Maybe he would talk about his lost love. Just as he was about to look away, to turn and go inside and fix something up, the Dragonborn let out one last blast of raging fire into the sky and threw herself off the side of the Throat of the World.


End file.
